


Va, je ne te hais point

by Emmasmith



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, I'll probably add more tags later, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Middle Child Wilbur Soot, Muteness, Older Brother Techno, Phil adopted Techno and Wilbur, SBI Family Dynamic, Trauma, Violence, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, cannon says this isn't true but i will still indulge in my au's, god i honestly don't know what else to say, kinda graphic depictions of being injured?, man tagging is kinda hard ngl, mute!tommy, not beta read we die like wilbur soot, phil will adopt tommy, sad boi tommy, uhm medically inaccurate depictions of injuries probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:34:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmasmith/pseuds/Emmasmith
Summary: (title: go, I don't hate you.)------When Tommy is suddenly forced to deal with having a major disability thanks to his birth-mother, and being suddenly put in the foster system, life loses most of its meaning. As he floats by, resigning himself to a fate of being cast out from home after home, he meets a strange family that isn't awful right away. They definitely have their baggage though, but will their attempts at healing Tommy's scars be enough to convince him to stay?------in other words, tommy is mute and gets fostered by Phil, in which he finally learns how to deal with trauma healthily! but not without a lot of angst before then.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 195
Kudos: 912





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic (i am refusing to acknowledge the fact that Minecraft YouTubers are the ones that finally made me start-) so please ignore any typos lol. I actually had a lot of fun writing this and have some cool plans for it in the future! I've read like almost all the foster family fics by now, so I had to make my own oops
> 
> anyways, enjoy!! feedback is super appreciated and comments and kudos will make me love you
> 
> also if any of the cc's are uncomfortable with this, I'll take it down at once! also, just in case it isn't clear, this fic is about the characters, not the actual people!

Tommy let his gaze un-focus as he stared mindlessly out the window to his caseworker’s office, her name long forgotten. Summer just started, he noted dully, and the world was so bright and alive and warm that it made him want to cringe. He absentmindedly rubbed at his neck, running rough fingers over the still healing scar.

It had been officially four months since his mother tried to murder him. What a morbid thing to celebrate. Thinking about his scar always made him think about his mother, and he couldn’t help but wonder where it all went wrong. Was it when his father left them? Maybe when Tommy got his first F on a big exam? Or maybe it had been when Tommy was starting to adjust and move on, maybe that had been the final straw for her.

If she couldn’t be happy, neither could he, right?

But most likely, it was none of those reasons. Tommy doubts that his mother was even aware of his mood in the months leading up to that day. She hadn’t been aware of anything for quite a while; was that why dad left? Was it her fault? Tommy liked to think it was, it was easier to blame her for everything than let any guilt worm its way into his heart.

Tommy could remember every single detail about _that_ _Day_ as though it had happened yesterday. He remembers being _so_ proud of the C he had gotten on his history exam; he’d been trying _so_ hard in school. He had been so excited to tell her, nearly sprinting home after school let out. He had fantasied about it all day: how they would celebrate, how she would hug him, how there would be no threats of violence and they would finally be normal for once—

Tommy almost laughed in his seat in the office as he remembered how stupid he’d been. God, he’d been so fucking stupid. _Hug him_? His mother died the day his father left them; the woman he had been trying to impress was just a stranger. An insane stranger. A crazy, demented stranger that was so out of touch with reality, she tried to commit a murder-suicide. Tommy had hardly yelled he was home before a vase had smashed right into the side of his head, knocking him painfully down to the floor. He had kicked and screamed and _begged_ his mother to stop, to get off him, as she took a knife to his throat, cutting deep, harsh lines into it. She had laughed manically all the while, and once she thought there was enough blood, took that knife to her chest and stabbed herself to death. She died within minutes, whereas Tommy couldn’t seem to die.

He had been painfully alive during the entire ordeal, only able to watch on with horror as his mother killed herself in front of him. He had numbly crawled out of the run-down apartment to his neighbor’s, knocking weakly on the door. The second they saw him and the trail of blood he was leaving behind, the police were phoned and medics were patching him up.

All the doctors kept going on and on about how ‘ _it’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death_ ’ and ‘ _you’re lucky to be alive_ ’ and ‘ _there was permanent damage done to your vocal cords, it’s unlikely they’ll ever properly heal_ ’ and ‘ _you might not ever be able to speak again_.’

God, he wished his mother could’ve done one thing right in her miserable life and fucking killed him.

But no, he was still painfully alive, and suddenly reminded of where he was when his caseworker addressed him.

“Thomas, did you hear a word I said?” she said, sighing with exasperation.

He shook his head and scoffed as she rolled her eyes. When did he ever pay attention?

“Well, let me start again,” she said, organizing the stacks of paper on her desk. “A new family is going to pick you up later today. They’re really taking a gamble on you, Thomas, so I need you to at least _try_ not to get sent back so soon, alright?”

God, this woman had no empathy, Tommy thought bitterly, as he gave a jerky nod to her. It wasn’t like he kept getting sent back _on purpose_. People just kept kicking him out once they got sick of the whole ‘can’t speak’ thing. No one wanted such an obviously broken boy.

“Okay, great.” She sighed and rubbed her temples as if talking to Tommy was giving _her_ a headache and not the other way around. “The new family will be here around 1, so I want you to be ready before then.”

Tommy nodded again and went to stand up, unable to sit in this stuffy office for any longer.

“Oh, and Thomas?” she called, not looked up at him. “Maybe it would be best to…you know, cover your neck before you leave.”

The words felt like punches to his gut as Tommy quickly nodded again and fled the room. God, even his caseworker noticed that no one liked the scar. Sure, it was ugly and big, and always red with how much Tommy would rub it, but couldn’t they understand that it _wasn’t his fault_? He was a victim and shit! Rage at his mother reached an all-time high as Tommy realized that _no one_ would want him thanks to what she’d done. She may not have killed him, but his life was certainly hell now.

He numbly climbed the stairs to his pitiful bedroom that he shared with 5 other boys. His bed was shoved haphazardly into one of the corners, stuffy and hot and too close to the window. He could always hear the traffic outside the home every night, and it did nothing to help his insomnia. Nothing inside the home really helped with his anything.

Tommy collapsed onto his bed and began wondering how long it’ll be before he’s back again. A month this time? Maybe he’ll set a new record and be back before the week’s up. Once the new people get a nice look at his scar, he’s sure they’ll be begging for him to leave. That’s what always happens.

But despite not having any hope for staying long, Tommy always brought all his stuff whenever he moved. That was to say, he always brought the same three pieces of clothing he owned, a wilted flower a little girl at the home gave him, and his stuffed cow. The cow was a little more embarrassing than the others, so he only ever took it out in private. The cow had been a gift from his father, back when Tommy could vaguely remember feeling happy with his family. It was his most prized possession, and he never left it behind. He had named it Henry.

Making sure all of his belongings were secure in the beaten-up duffle bag he kept them in, Tommy glanced at the clock to see it was 1:15. _Already?_ He thought, a small pit beginning to form in his stomach. Ever since that Day, Tommy lost track of time more and more frequently. He could stare off into space for hours and not even notice. The thought should worry him more than it does, he thinks, but not much phases him nowadays. Trauma and shit.

Just as he was about to head down to the caseworker’s office, the sudden pounding of feet up the stairs made him stop in his tracks. They were the only warning he got before the caseworker was suddenly in his face, angrily whispering that he needed to come downstairs right _now_ and greet the kind man who was taking him in.

At least, that’s what Tommy thinks she was saying, but her sudden anger and closeness could only remind him of his mother, and of _pain, pain, pain_ —

He blinked and was downstairs. He was wearing a scarf that covered his scar too.

Oh.

When’d that happen?

Tommy ignored the loss of time in favor of studying the new man suddenly in front of him. He looked old, maybe in his forties or fifties, and wore a neat button-down green shirt. A white and green striped hat sat on top of his head, and he smiled stupidly when he noticed Tommy staring.

“Hello,” he greeted warmly, giving a little wave, “I’m Phil. You’re Thomas?”

Truth was, Tommy _wasn’t_ Thomas, he was Tommy, but he had no way of telling that to others, so he just nodded dumbly and sucked it up. It was just a name; he wasn’t so broken that he couldn’t handle being called his own fucking name.

“Ms. Grainer told me you don’t speak, and that’s okay!” the man hastened to say, as if Tommy cared. Which was…nice, he guessed. “But I brought you something that I wanted to give off the bat so that we can talk.”

He rummaged through the green tote bag Tommy hadn’t even noticed, and pulled out a drawing pad and a pencil.

Huh.

“I thought maybe you could use it to write with,” Phil explained sheepishly, as Tommy continued to stare blankly. He was actually kind of embarrassed he hadn’t thought of that. Phil offered it and to his, and Tommy’s, surprise, Tommy took it without hesitation and immediately began writing in it.

He quickly flipped it around and showed Phil the message:

_Tommy, not Thomas._

Phil’s eyes softened as he read it and looked at Tommy. “Of course. I’m so sorry for not asking earlier.”

And it was _really fucking weird_ to have an adult apologizing to Tommy, so much that he unconsciously took a step back, afraid of this new act he hadn’t seen in the system yet.

But Phil didn’t look disheartened at all and motioned to the doors. “Well, I believe everything is in order, right Ms. Grainer?”

The caseworker nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes! You’re both good to go.”

“Thank you,” he said, and then looking back to Tommy, said, “Well, ready to go Tommy?”

And if Tommy felt a broken, old piece of him suddenly work again at being called his name, well, no one needed to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy settles in and has a family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter let's gooooo  
> I probably won't update this story every day, I just have a lot of free time right now lol
> 
> But! Oh my gosh! Thank you everyone for being so lovely with the first chapter! I wasn't expecting such a great response after only a day, y'all are too sweet. Also I know the story is kinda slow rn, but this is all setting the scene type stuff, next chapter will be more exciting! 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy! Comments and kudos are super appreciated, and also, let me know what you think of this format? I'm still playing around with it.

Turns out car rides were _really fucking boring_ , who knew? Phil apparently lived five hours away from the home, which worried Tommy for a couple of different reasons. What if he needed to run? Where would he go? He had no idea if this new family – the Watson’s he thinks they’re called – would treat him like a human or not. So far, he’s 0-3 when it comes to being fostered, so despite how nice Phil was being, Tommy refused to get his hopes up.

The notepad had been a smart idea when both people could look at it, but for obvious reasons, Tommy couldn’t use it while Phil drove. That didn’t mean the ride went on in blissful silence, it seemed to Tommy that Phil couldn’t handle it, desperately trying to fill the void whenever he could. Tommy didn’t mind all that much, he was learning a lot about his new situation thanks to the older man’s ramblings.

Apparently, he had two older sons, both fostered as well, named Techno and Wilbur. Tommy let out an amused huff when he heard those names; Techno? Wilbur was normal enough, but who the fuck named their kid Techno? If Tommy could speak, he would be mocking that name endlessly. A bitter pain ran through his heart at that idea, at the loss of something that used to be so essential to his personality, so he shoved it back into the corners of his mind. Nope, not dealing with that ever.

Techno was a senior in school this year, and Wilbur a junior. Tommy was apparently going to go to their high school come September as a freshman if he stayed for that long. Phil seemed so sure he would, though, so Tommy didn’t refute the idea. Tommy didn’t offer much in the way of anything, really, as Phil went on about the house and his room and how ‘ _oh, we’ll have to go shopping soon to get you some new clothes and pick out items for your room—’_

Tommy started to tune him out as he talked about more permanent sounding matters, they didn’t matter anyway. He turned his gaze to the window and stared out at the trees and grass as they passed by. Everything looked so idyllic; the sky was a beautiful shade of baby blue, birds were singing and zooming about, there were even a couple of lakes here and there that Tommy spotted deer drinking out of. It all looked so perfect, so full of life, yet as Tommy continued to watch it pass by, it felt like everything had a monochrome filter over it. He could _see_ all the colors and the animals, but it was like his mind wouldn’t associate the colors with joy. He could _feel_ the sun beating down on him, making his forehead slick with sweat, but he was freezing in the seat. It sort of felt like the world was just happening around him, as he watched it through the small car window. It almost didn’t feel real.

But before he could wander down that trail of thought anymore, Phil suddenly stopped the car and turned towards him.

“Well,” he said, unlocking the doors and opening his up, “We’re here! Do you need any help with your bag?”

Tommy tried not to let his surprise at being here already show on his face, and instead shook his head. He only had one bag; he could carry it. Not like there was much in it anyways.

He got out of the car and was momentarily blinded by the sun, though not enough that he missed the perplexed look Phil sent his way. It suddenly occurred to Tommy that he was wearing a winter scarf in the middle of June, like a completely normal person. He could feel his cheeks turning red, but Tommy knew taking the scarf off would be more embarrassing, so he opted to leave it on, strange looks be damned.

“Let’s get out of this heat, yeah?” Phil said, smiling at him warmly once again. Tommy thinks it was supposed to make him feel better, but the niceties were just putting him more on edge. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

He followed Phil into a pleasant-looking two-story house, painted a muddy blue with a bright white front door. The inside of the house looked, to put it nicely, very lived in. There were pillows thrown about in what Tommy assumed was some sort of family room; the kitchen was a mess with dishes everywhere and half the cupboards and draws left partly opened. There looked to be a room solely dedicated to musical instruments, and Tommy could vaguely remember a time when he had begged his parents to let him learn piano, bothering them constantly for months. Nothing ever came out of it, save a few bruises and shouting matches. He shook himself out of the memory and tried to tune back into what Phil was saying, no doubt actually explaining what everything was.

“—and this is the kitchen, I promise it’s usually cleaner than this,” he laughed, shaking his head with fondness. “Wilbur’s probably just gotten back from his music practice; he’s also so hungry afterward.”

Tommy noted with some interest that Wilbur was the musician of the family, the music room was probably his then.

“Oh, and this is the laundry room. We usually take turns doing chores, but I’m not that strict about it. Techno and Wilbur eventually clean up after themselves when they get too bothered by the mess. I don’t mind cleaning up for them, though.” He turned back to Tommy and gave him a smile that made his insides squirm. “I’m not sure if you’re like that too, though. Do you want to help with chores?”

Tommy was frankly very surprised he was being asked in the first place, even if he knew it was just a formality. He knew Phil wanted him to say yes, so he nodded. The caseworker did say to _try_ , didn’t she? He could do that; he could be pleasant.

“Oh, well thank you then! We’ll sort it out later.” Phil turned away and began leading him upstairs, pointing to doors along the way. “That’s the bathroom, that’s Wilbur’s room, that’s my room, that’s Techno’s room, and here’s yours!”

He opened up the last door on the hall and Tommy was greeted with the nicest looking room he had ever seen. He could hear Phil apologizing for its bareness and how they’d didn’t want to decorate for him, but all Tommy could feel was an overwhelming sense of grief. In his fourteen years of life, he had never stayed in a place like this. Is this what he’d been missing out on? Is this what so many people got to experience since day one? Tommy was suddenly very jealous of Techno and Wilbur, whom he remembered Phil saying he adopted while they were

Still young. _They_ never had to sleep on the floor for half their lives, freezing to death while their parents slumbered on in a bed that could surely fit them all. A bitter taste landed on Tommy’s tongue, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t speak. He would definitely be sent back if he could.

Phil had stopped talking, Tommy realized, and he quickly turned to the man, silently admonishing himself for getting lost in his head again. He was worried Phil had asked him a question, and the patient look on his face said he was right.

Shit.

Tommy tried not to make a face as he wracked his brain for an answer that would work for any question but was drawing blanks. He wasn’t used to being asked questions, alright? Despite his best efforts to keep calm, Phil must’ve picked up on his distress and repeated the question.

“Do you like it, Tommy? We can arrange something different if you want—”

Tommy cut him off by nodding rapidly, for once not just saying yes to please someone else.

Phil smiled kindly, something Tommy thinks he must do a lot, and motioned towards the door. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in, alright? I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Techno and Wilbur probably won’t come out of their rooms until dinner – I bet they don’t even realize we’re back yet – but you can meet them then.”

Tommy nodded again and took out the notepad to write a thank you. He added on, as an afterthought:

_When’s dinner?_

“Oh, around six. I’ll come get you when we’re ready, don’t worry.”

Phil left and shut the door gently, leaving Tommy feeling completely out of place in this neat, clean room. He didn’t know what else to do besides finding a place to stuff his bag, no matter how nice Phil was, he seriously doubted he’d ever want to unpack. Shoving it under the bed sounded like a good idea, so Tommy made to do just that. His hand brushed against something firm as he did, though, and Tommy pulled it out to reveal what he could only assume was a care package of some kind. It was addressed to him. There was a letter on top of the box, and Tommy read it, confusion visible on his face.

_Hello, Thomas!_

_Dad said he was picking you up today, but he wouldn’t tell me when! I’m worried I’ll be out when you first get here, so Techno and I made you a little house-warming present just in case! We’re not really sure what you like, so we just sort of put a bunch of things in it. Hopefully one of them is good! If you ever need anything, all our doors are always open!_

_-Wilbur_

Tommy stared at the note for what felt like hours, trying to comprehend it. He’d never been given a fucking welcome note before. This house was starting to be a first for a lot of things. He ignored the weird feeling in his chest the note gave him and instead opened up the box.

It was filled with food, a deck of cards, and some paper and pens. Tommy thinks he might know why the house was so messy now; no doubt Techno and Wilbur had ransacked it for this box. It would be nice to think they cared so much about someone they hadn’t met, but Tommy knew that wasn’t the case. Probably just another formality. A weird one yeah, but any other answer just didn’t make sense.

Tommy sighed and shoved the box back under the bed with his bag. Guess that’s where he’s just going to be putting shit from now on.

Instead of doing something productive with his time before dinner, Tommy laid on the bed and closed his eyes. He’s really not tried, but the thought of doing anything else just sounded like too much work. Maybe this lost sense of time thing will come in handy for once.

Sometime later – Tommy couldn’t even begin to guess when – there was a knock at the door. He moaned as he got up, suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

He opened the door expecting Phil, but the person who stood outside was most certainly _not Phil_. Tommy’s sluggish mind reminded him of the other two boys living here, and he can only assume this is one of them.

“Hey,” said the unknown boy, his words low and monotone. “It’s dinnertime.”

Having said his piece, apparently, the boy turned away and walked down the stairs, leaving Tommy confusedly standing in the doorway, his mind still refusing to process things. He must have stood there for too long, because the boy stopped to look back, his face unreadable. He inclined his head towards the stairs and started moving again, this time with Tommy hastily following behind.

Tommy wasn’t actually hungry, that was a feeling rare and fleeting nowadays, but he sat himself down at the table while the other boy sat opposite him.

Phil came in bringing what Tommy assumed was some sort of hotdish—which what? Who had hot dishes in the summer? But no one seemed to point out the weirdness, so Tommy kept it to himself.

He realized, then, that even if he wanted to point it out, he couldn’t. He left the notepad upstairs. Great.

The third member of the family came down then, immediately going into some spiel about how he was going to strangle someone named Fundy one of these days if he didn’t stop playing mood music whenever he spoke.

“Oh,” the boy, who must be Wilbur, said, stopping as he noticed Tommy. “Is this—?”

“Tommy, yes,” Phil cut in. “Tommy, this is Wilbur. Oh, and this is Techno, I’m sure he didn’t introduce himself.”

Tommy nodded in greeting and Techno nodded back. Wilbur seemed to be much louder than his brother, though, and once again started talking.

“How long have you been here? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was here, Dad! This is so embarrassing, you know? I’m not even dressed!”

The last comment was weird because Wilbur certainly was dressed, he actually looked the most put together than everyone else at the table.

“Wilbur, we can talk all about it during dinner, sit down,” Phil instructed, and Wilbur did so begrudgingly. He took a seat next to Techno, with Phil sitting down by Tommy.

Dinner was fucking awkward.

Despite Wilbur trying to initiate a conversation, Tommy couldn’t reply. Phil reminded Wilbur of this fact many times, but it just seemed like he kept forgetting. It made Tommy feel bad, honestly, that he couldn’t speak. Techno didn’t speak much either, but he definitely could, which just made Tommy jealous. He could speak, but wouldn’t? Fuck that.

However strained it was, with just Phil and Wilbur talking, Tommy wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t one of the best dinners he’s ever had. The food tasted like shit, but he was pretty sure all food just tasted like shit nowadays.

It was the first calm meal he’d had since joining the system. Tommy let a small part of him hope it wouldn’t be his last.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is home alone and learns how to play the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo everyone! New chapter yay
> 
> I wanted to thank all of you who've been so nice and supportive of this fic!! It's only been a couple of days, but we already have so many kudos and hits; you all are amazing!!! So much so, that I was motivated to get this chapter done as soon as possible yay! But also, don't get used to these everyday updates! I'm probably not going to be able to do them once the weekend's over, so enjoy them while they last!
> 
> That being said, enjoy the new chapter! I really liked how this one came out :D

The first few weeks were…awkward, to say the least. Tommy doesn’t think his muteness really helps.

Ever since their first dinner together, Wilbur tried his best to rope Tommy into doing whatever activity he was doing then. Chores, bored games, video games—really anything. Tommy tried, he really did, to keep up with Wilbur. He didn’t know what the consequences would be for not following along, and Tommy wasn’t keen on finding out. He knew that normally, he’d be a lot louder and, for lack of a better term, voice his opinions more often. But, something about the fact that whenever he was _himself_ , he got kicked out, left Tommy hesitating and trying to be more subdued.

His caseworker’s words kept repeating themselves in his head: _‘Can’t you just try for once, Thomas? Try not to be a complete fuck up for 10 seconds?’_

Okay, maybe he was paraphrasing, but that was what she’d _meant_.

And, despite what his caseworker believed, Tommy _wasn’t trying_ to get sent back again and again. He was just naturally a nuisance, he guessed, one that no one wanted to deal with.

But that trail of thought was too depressing for Tommy to go down further, so instead, he returned his attention to Wilbur, who was once again rambling about nonsense during dinner.

“—and then we got to the final song, right? And everything was going so well! But,” he paused for dramatic effect, something Tommy noticed he did a lot, “just as we were about to play a mistake-free run, Fundy ruined it! Again! It’s not even funny anymore! He just always plays some weird pop song at the end, always, just to get one my nerves.” Wilbur stabbed his asparagus hard, his face a clear picture of agitation. This Fundy guy was officially Tommy’s favorite person ever; he was doing god’s work.

Phil chuckled at Wilbur’s antics and turned to Techno. “Well, how was your day, Techno? As exciting as Wil’s?”

Techno shrugged and played with his food; his eyes downcast. He didn’t really make eye contact much, Tommy noted, at least not at dinner. A pang ran through Tommy’s heart when he realized it was probably because Techno didn’t like him, and was annoyed at this random _stranger eating with them_ —

“It was alright,” Techno said, and the surprise at hearing his voice snapped Tommy out of his thoughts. Techno…never spoke at dinner. It’d been two weeks already, and this was the first time Tommy actually heard him reply to Phil’s useless questions.

Phil seemed equally surprised at getting a response but recovered quickly. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Do any of you have plans for the weekend? I was thinking about going into town and doing some errands, anyone want to come with?”

Wilbur shook his head, sighing dramatically. “I can’t, we’ve got to run through the play at least _once_ with everyone there. We were planning on doing it this weekend.”

Phil nodded and turned to raise an eyebrow at Tommy, who quickly shook his head. The idea of leaving the house seemed monstrous, and Tommy didn’t trust himself not to fuck something up. The less time he spent with Phil, the less likely Phil would learn what a terrible person he was, and the less likely he would get sent back. Solid plan, in his opinion.

“Well,” Phil sighed, but he didn’t look angry, which let Tommy relax a bit, “I guess it’ll just be you and me Techno. I need someone to help.”

Techno nodded, and the conversation went back to Wilbur complaining more about his theater friends.

\-------------

The next morning, Tommy woke up to an empty house. Wilbur must’ve already left for practice, and from reading the note Phil left Tommy in the kitchen, the other two had gone out shopping already.

He was alone.

_Fuck yeah._

Tommy’s changed a lot since entering the system, but one thing that will forever remain consistent was his lack of respect for privacy. The first thing he did after realizing he was alone was to go snooping in all the rooms he didn’t go into before. Which, was to say, really all the rooms. Tommy didn’t leave his much.

The first room he poked around in was the kitchen. Sure, he’d gone into it to get the occasional granola bar or something else, but he hadn’t really explored it. He hadn’t needed to, really, since he ate so rarely. Dinner was his only consistent meal. A quiet part of him said that wasn’t normal, that that wasn’t healthy, but Tommy just ignored the voice like he always did. For some reason, it’d been sounding a lot like Phil lately, and Tommy was _not_ going to unpack all that.

He rummaged through all the cabinets and drawers, taking stock of everything. He usually would hoard some food for himself, but that care package Wilbur and Techno had made him was actually still plenty full.

A part of Tommy couldn’t help but be bitter as he looked through the kitchen, fully stocked with fancy utensils and so much food. He would’ve killed someone to have a life like this before, but now he couldn’t get over his jealousy at Wilbur and Techno. Tommy felt a little bad at how much he resented the two; he didn’t even _know_ them, yet he was always feeling so envious of them. And then all that guilt mixed with the envy, and it all just left him feeling rotten.

Tommy left the kitchen before he could get lost in his own head more, and instead made his way to the room he’d really wanted to look around: the music room. 

Despite Tommy having labeled it the ‘music’ room, it was really just a normal sitting area with a piano and guitar. Tommy knew that Wilbur had his own personal guitar in his room – he could hear him play it every once and a while – but this was the only piano in the house. Tommy wondered why it was even there, no one seemed to touch it. At least, no one had touched it in the past two weeks, which was the only reason Tommy felt comfortable in sitting down at it.

Sure, he couldn’t play, but he just wanted to pretend. Just for a moment.

His hands fell at awkward positions on the piano, playing the keys randomly. Tommy was immensely grateful no one else was home; this would definitely qualify as annoying, regular Tommy behavior.

He stopped playing random notes and instead hit them individually, trying to figure out which ones sounded like that one London bridge song he’d heard other kids playing at recess all those years ago. It must have sounded quite ominous, the house completely void of noise except the quiet, hesitant notes of the piano.

Tommy must have sat there for hours, trying to piece together the song through memory alone. Finally, though, he figured them out, and played what had to have been the world’s slowest rendition of the song.

He was still proud though, and let a small smile form as he finished.

“That was really good,” a voice sounded from behind him, making Tommy jump into the air. He turned around quickly to find Wilbur standing in the doorway, and Tommy turned red as he realized he must’ve heard the whole thing. He was suddenly grateful that he had decided to wear the scarf around his neck this morning too, this would have been infinitely more awkward if Wilbur could see his scar. 

“I can teach you, if you want,” Wilbur offered, a hand rubbing his neck, like he was nervous or something. Which didn’t make any sense, because it should Tommy who was the one freaking the fuck out right now. And Tommy was, because holy shit, he’s not even supposed to be in this room, he didn’t think, what were the rules again? Was he given any? What were they going to do? _They were going to kick him out, kick him out, kick him out—_

“Here,” Wilbur said suddenly, sitting on the piano bench beside him. Tommy forced himself to pay attention, he didn’t want to mess up even more. “I haven’t played in a while, guitar is usually more my style, but I still remember! This here? This is middle C; you place your thumb on it and your other fingers go—yeah! Just like that! A natural I see.”

Wilbur nudged his shoulder at that and Tommy fought not to flinch, but he couldn’t suppress all of it. Wilbur probably didn’t even notice, but Tommy couldn’t help but think that the lack of contact from then on was purposeful.

“I heard you playing _London Bridge_ earlier, have you ever played before?” Tommy shook his head. “Really? Did you do that by memory?” A nod. “Holy shit, that’s really impressive, Tommy! But here, let me just—”

Wilbur quickly played _London Bridge_ on the piano, much better than Tommy did, and turned back to him.

“Yeah, you just got a couple notes wrong here and there. Here I’ll show you—”

And for the next couple hours, Wilbur did just that. Tommy was a slow learner, but he soaked up all of Wilbur’s notes and advice like a thirsty man finally given water. Wilbur seemed delighted to teach Tommy how to play, and they played _London Bridge_ over and over again, each time faster as Tommy grew more confident in the notes. One time, they even played at the same time, which was a complete disaster that left Tommy falling off the bench laughing as Wilbur banged on the keys in frustration at Tommy not keeping the right tempo.

He could see Wilbur laughing too though, and it was nice. Out of all the activities Wilbur had done with him, the piano was his favorite.

\-------

Dinner that night was the first time Tommy brought down the notepad and pencil, and also the first time he actively used it to talk to Wilbur.

He could see Techno roll his eyes at their animated discussion over why _London Bridge_ was one of the first songs people learned on piano.

“It’s easy!” Wilbur was saying, his food long forgotten and pushed aside. “It’s also a classic. Who hasn’t played the game during break at school?”

_Fuck tradition_ , Tommy wrote, quickly turning the pad around and back to show Wilbur the new message, _it’s creepy as fuck and about a bridge falling down, probably killing a bunch of people along the way._

“Killing! Where on earth does it mention people dying, Tommy?”

“Actually,” Techno said, his voice filled with the slightest hint of excitement, “the bridge the song is talking about has historically been built terribly. It caught on fire in like, the 1200s, and killed over 3000 people in the process. There are some who also say that the song might be about human sacrifice, but that’s one of the weaker theories—”

“Human sacrifice!” Wilbur said, looking between Tommy and Techno aghast. “You two are so morbid! It’s just a fun nursery rhyme, why must you ruin everything?”

Tommy laughed while Techno grumpily said, “I’m not ruining anything. It’s just the history of the song.”

“But no one actually likes the history of nursery rhymes, Techno. They’re all so morbid! We just ignore them.”

_Like the original Disney movie stories._

“Exactly! Grimm Brothers who? I only know Walt Disney.”

Tommy laughed again while Techno scoffed amusedly, Phil merely shaking his head fondly.

Tommy went to bed that night feeling slightly content, and for once not dreading waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> Comments, kudos, or any feedback is super appreciated! I'm so excited to write more in this AU, so be looking forward to that!
> 
> Oh also, I actually watched a video by Jon Solo about the origins of the London Bridge song, which you guys should totally check out! Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baU8JB87jQ8&ab_channel=JonSolo


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy panics (what else is new?) and finds maybe this family is more caring than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo everyone! Guess who wrote chapter four? You're welcome!
> 
> Originally, I was just gonna write chapters during the weekend, but I finished my schoolwork early tonight, so we both get a treat!
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was fun to write, and I couldn't help but make it angsty oops
> 
> also!! TW: panic attacks! stay safe!!

For the next few weeks, life passed with what Tommy could only assume was what peace felt like. It was only when he woke up a month after he arrived that it really hit him.

He’d been here for a month.

And he didn’t hate it.

Sure, things were still awkward with Phil and Techno, but Wilbur and he had really been getting on. Tommy would almost say Wilbur was like what he’d imagined a brother to be. Of course, he would never in a million years admit that to anyone, so that was just going to stay a private thought. He also hadn’t really had any experience with brothers before, so sue him for being hasty in his judgment.

But he couldn’t deny he almost felt _safe_ around Wilbur, and he’d been so _nice_. After that day in the music room, Wilbur had helped Tommy practice the piano whenever he could.

So, the fact that Tommy was hiding something from them all made him hesitant to be truly happy. Guilt crept at the corners of his mind constantly; the scarf a permeant reminder that they didn’t know the real Tommy. They only knew what Tommy wished he could be: likable, polite, quiet. It hurt, almost, to start growing closer with these people, only to remember that they were growing closer with a ghost. A dead man. The boy Tommy was before his mother; a boy who Tommy desperately wished could come back. But there was also the fact that people _liked_ him more when he wasn’t the before-Tommy; no one liked before-Tommy, and that fact was only reinforced with every interaction he had with the Watsons.

But Tommy couldn’t bring himself to break this fragile home he was building; he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave the constant family dinners, or the soft guitar music coming from Wilbur’s room. He didn’t even want to leave the quiet and intimidating presence Techno had, which was always ruined whenever he spoke about history or mythology. It was such a hesitant feeling of acceptance, but Tommy felt it all the same, and what he wouldn’t give to keep it.

So, for now, Tommy would keep the scarf on, 100-degree weather be damned.

\--------

“Hey, Tommy,” Phil said when Tommy walked into the kitchen for breakfast, a steaming mug of coffee in his palms, “Wilbur and I need to head in town for some new guitar strings. You want to come?”

Tommy shook his head. It’s not like he didn’t _want_ to stay outside for hours in 100-degree weather with a scarf on, but he didn’t.

Phil just nodded and went back to drinking his coffee, a companionable silence falling over them. It was still early, barely 6 yet, but Tommy was thrumming with energy. Even though he had started to sleep better over this past month, his sleep schedule was still pretty shit. Tommy didn’t particularly mind; less sleep meant fewer nightmares, and his body also seemed to overcompensate whenever he got too little rest, giving him a bunch of energy. That was all certainly not healthy and definitely not how the human body should work, but Tommy really couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

“Tommy,” Phil suddenly said, breaking the silence. His tone was hesitant, which immediately put Tommy on edge. “Now, this really isn’t my business,” he started after a long pause, “but, why are you still wearing that scarf? I don’t want you to overheat or anything.”

Tommy was a very big man who did not panic ever, but if he ever _did_ panic, he was sure this was what it felt like.

He couldn’t breathe.

What could he say? _Oh yeah, that? It’s just this scarf that’s covering the one thing that has ruined my life more than my mother’s death did. No big deal._ That would be a surefire way to get sent back. _What could he say?_

Tommy forced himself to take a deep breath before he passed out and looked at Phil with searching eyes. He didn’t look suspicious, just concerned. Which was—something Tommy would focus on later. He wasn’t suspicious. Okay. Tommy could work with that.

He motioned for a pen and paper, and wrote down:

_It’s a fashion statement._

Nice save.

Phil burst out laughing when he read the sentence, and Tommy forced a smile. Maybe if he played along, he could get Phil to forget about the original question.

“ _That’s_ your fashion statement?” Phil said, still laughing hysterically. “Mate, that’s got to be the most uncomfortable statement you could choose. The color is so bright too!”

Tommy looked down and noted that, yes, the scarf was a bit bright. He wondered how he failed to notice it was bright neon green this whole time. Trauma and shit, he guessed.

“Maybe Wil and I will get you a different scarf, at least a lighter one. That looks like it was made for winter.”

Tommy honestly didn’t know how to feel about the conversation, so he just nodded along with whatever Phil was saying, as he went on about what stores could carry lightweight scarfs. Tommy had to hide the breath he let out when he realized Phil had forgotten about _why_ they were talking about Tommy’s scarf. 

Eventually, Phil left the kitchen to wake Wilbur up so they could head out. Tommy hoped it hadn’t been too obvious how tense he was.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Maybe today would be spent alone in his room.

\-------

He couldn’t _see_.

Everything was blurry and unfocused—trying to keep his eyes on anything only made his head dizzy with the effort.

Tommy was fine. This was fine. This was something that happened all the time, he reminded himself. He was fine in the home when this happened, and he would be fine right now. He just needed to—needed to just find a place to hide and wait it out. Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. Solid plan.

Tommy stumbled up from his bed where he had been absentmindedly staring at the ceiling from over to the desk. He awkwardly crawled under it, hitting his head and bruising his legs along the way, and hugged his knees.

He was okay.

He shut his eyes hard and tried to focus on breathing but—

Everything was just so _loud_ —

And so _bright_ —

And he was so fucking aware of _everything_.

It felt like his mind was going a mile a second, and everything else was lagging behind. He couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear. And he definitely couldn’t fucking _speak_.

“—ommy?”

Someone was touching his shoulder. He strained his ears to try and hear what they were saying, but everything was still so hazy.

“Tommy?” they said again, clearer this time. “Tommy, can you hear me? Look at me.”

Tommy forced his head up and weakly looked in the direction of the voice. It was so hard to focus, but he could almost see—

“There you are. You’re okay.”

— Techno.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Techno said again, trying to rub Tommy’s arm in a comforting way. The touch was grounding. “Let’s—let’s come out from the desk, alright?”

Tommy nodded feebly and tried to crawl out, only to fall face-first on the floor. Fucking great.

Techno didn’t say a word, but helped him up and walked him to the bed. Tommy didn’t think he’d make it without Techno’s support.

Techno sat down beside him and silence enveloped them. It wasn’t the comforting silence Tommy had with Phil earlier; this one was stifling and almost choked him with the tension. He hugged his arms and stayed quiet. God, this was really embarrassing.

“So,” Techno coughed, apparently as uncomfortable as Tommy was, “do you want...to watch...a movie?”

He said it as if he was asking both of them the question, completely unsure of what to do. Like he was just grasping at straws. Maybe he was.

Tommy stared at him for a second, honestly taken aback by the attempt. It was…nice. Not in the way that spending time with Wilbur had been nice, or when Phil had called Tommy his real name for the first time. No, it was a different warmth that formed in Tommy’s chest as he nodded. A warmth unique to Techno, but not unwelcoming.

Techno nodded and stood up, offering a hand to Tommy.

He took it.

\-------

Watching a movie with Techno was actually kind of relaxing. He made stupid commentary throughout the whole time, almost a little unfair in Tommy’s opinion.

“—you’d think they would realize he’s crazy sooner! He literally has an entire ship filled with dog slaves. How does that _not_ raise any red flags?” he was saying, seeming physically pained at the main character’s intelligence.

Tommy elbowed him in the side, which only made Techno scoff. “What? You think that’s a sane conclusion?”

Tommy didn’t, but he also didn’t have anything to write with, so he just opted for sticking his tongue out at Techno. He got a pillow to the face for it, but they were both smiling.

It was nice.

Halfway through, Tommy found his eyelids drooping and his shoulders slumping with the effort to stay awake. He was exhausted, but he didn’t want to fall asleep here, not in front of Techno. That would be uncomfortable on more than one level.

But the consistent humming of the movie, and Techno’s low, soothing voice, eventually were enough to clock Tommy out, and he felt his head sliding back onto the couch. He knew that would hurt like a bitch when he woke up, but right now he couldn’t be bothered to care.

With his sleep riddled mind, Tommy wasn’t sure if it really happened, but he could’ve sworn his head was moved to rest on someone’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly as he felt his pillow vibrate with a chuckle.

He woke up a couple of hours later in his bed and with the best rest he’d gotten in five months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!!
> 
> These characters are really ooc, but I'm justifying that with the fact that this AU is so different from canon, so it's fine.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading!! I'm planning on having one more chapter with the slow pacing, and then we'll pick it up! Probably to the start of the school year or something; so look forward to that! 
> 
> Anyways, comments and kudos are super appreciated!! Which speaking of, thank you all so much for all the hits and kudos and bookmarks/subs!!!! awww you guys are giving me such a positive response on this fic, and I really don't know who that says more about lol but thank you so much!! you guys are the best :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owo? What's this? An update? 
> 
> Hellooooo everyone! Yes, tis I, your beloved author, back with an update! Oops it's been a bit, sorry! There's really no set update schedule for this; it's just whenever i have the time. Which lucky for you guys, is right now! yay! I really liked how this one came out, so enjoy!!! We're getting into super angst territory babyyyyy
> 
> CW: idk if this is one, but descriptions of illness

Suffice to say, Tommy was _not_ having a good day.

He woke up at 4 am with a pounding headache and the worst stomach ache he’d ever had, almost too disoriented to stumble over to the bathroom. He had managed, though, and had spent the rest of the night leaning over the toilet trying to vomit out food he didn’t have.

Good times overall.

He could hear the other members of the family stirring as he tries to stand up. Techno woke up at 6 am every morning for whatever reason, and from the footsteps sounding outside, he was probably downstairs making coffee. Phil wakes up later at a more reasonable time around 8, but still too early for Wilbur. For the entire week and a month that Tommy had been here, he’d never seen Wilbur up before 12. Maybe it was a summer thing. Or just a Wilbur thing.

Tommy wills himself to stand up as Techno goes about his morning routine. He would need the bathroom soon, and Tommy doesn’t know what he’d do if he found him like this. Tommy was still kind of unsure about Techno; sure, he had helped him with the whole panic attack thing, but it seemed like both of them had made an unspoken vow to never mention it. There was… _something_ different about their relationship though. Almost as if Techno was less wary of him? Which was a ridiculous idea, but Tommy had no other idea on how to put it. Maybe he had found something relatable in Tommy. Maybe it was just pity. 

Maybe Tommy would find out if he stayed in the bathroom any longer, but his head was dizzy and his throat so dry he couldn’t swallow, so he decided to put that mystery aside for another day.

Leaving the bathroom was even more disorienting than getting in; the whole world was spinning and Tommy’s sure he isn’t being quite as quiet as he thinks as he staggers back to his room, practically running into every object along the way. Hopefully, Phil and Wilbur didn’t wake up, that would be awkward. Would they be upset that he’d gotten sick? His mother always used to get angry at him when she’d learned he was ill; saying something about how she couldn’t afford to baby him all day and that he needed to pull his weight in this family.

Some “family” they’d been in the end. Or maybe that really was how family worked, Tommy didn’t know. He guesses Phil and Techno and Wilbur don’t act like that, at least, not yet. It’s stupid, but Tommy hopes they never would.

He falls face-first back into his bed, clutching his head in between his palms. Fuck, it _hurts_. Oh god, is he dying? He’s pretty sure this was what dying felt like. Or rather, dying if you got shot in the head multiple times and then run over by a truck. Probably. His stomach was still reeling too, and everything was so _sore_. He hadn’t gotten sick since before the system, but he was pretty sure it was never this bad. Fuck, did his injury weaken his immune system or something? Was his body still recovering? It had almost been half a year, but in the grand scheme of things, Tommy guesses that wasn’t actually long enough for his body to heal fully. Shit.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing Tommy knew was waking up to a dark room and the loudest fucking noise he’d ever heard.

He moans weakly and the noise sounds again, a little more frantic. God, it was not helping his headache. He tries to yell a _fuck off_ to whoever was pounding at his door, but realizes too late he can’t speak. It comes out as a distorted whine, making him sound like a dying animal. Maybe he was a dying animal, he certainly felt like one.

The knocking finally stops and Tommy lets himself relax again, vaguely aware someone had opened the door and was coming towards him.

Everything felt like it was underwater, but he could’ve sworn he heard someone’s breath catch in their throat, and a gentle hand touched his forehead.

He felt himself be lifted up and carried, where he didn’t know, but he involuntarily snuggles closer to the body. A small part of him screams and yells to _stop_ , that this was his mother going to hurt him, and a weak cry comes from his throat. The body holding him shushes him gently though, and a comforting hand runs through his hair. Tommy leans into it and falls back asleep.

\------

Phil was a mess of emotions.

He hadn’t seen Tommy all day. Sure, he wasn’t an early riser like Techno, but he was usually up and about by 10.

Today though, Phil was woken up at around 6 to the sound of something falling on his door, then quickly shambling away. He had jumped out of bed immediately, paternal instincts going wild, only to catch the tail end of Tommy rushing to his room.

_That can’t be good_ , he had thought, but he had learned a couple things about Tommy since his time here. He knew Tommy was a private person with a vibrant personality. He knew he was so expressive and _loud_ without speaking a word. He didn’t know why Tommy wouldn’t speak, and a part of Phil ached at the idea that he still didn’t feel safe around them. Phil had been looking into selective-mutism; everything else about Tommy was relaxed and comfortable around them, except speaking. So, Phil had been researching everything he could to try and help.

He had gotten Tommy a thinner scarf at the market the other day, and had been planning on giving it to him the day he got it. But when he and Wilbur got home, they found Tommy asleep on Techno and Techno silently panicking on what to do.

Phil had taken a picture.

It had been a good day.

But apparently, the world needed to even out the scales, because when Phil had moved closer to Tommy’s door (he doesn’t want to disturb him, he knew Tommy wouldn’t appreciate it), he heard muffled moans and _sobs?_ Oh no, how was he not supposed to rush in? But he needed to respect Tommy’s privacy, so with great effort, Phil had turned away from the door and set off to the kitchen.

He didn’t know what was wrong, but hot chocolate was a universal cure. Right?

Techno was downstairs, brewing his morning coffee like always. He looks up in surprise when he sees Phil, and yeah— he guesses he’s usually not up this early, is he?

“Good morning,” Phil greets with a weary smile, his thoughts still racing about Tommy. Right. Hot chocolate.

Techno merely huffs in response and goes back to his coffee, as if staring more intensely will speed the process up.

“What was that noise?” Techno says, not looking up from the coffee machine.

Phil pauses in the middle of making the hot chocolate. “I’m not sure exactly,” he hesitates, “I think Tommy might be coming down with something.”

Techno says nothing to that, so Phil goes back to the drink. He can practically hear the gears turning in Techno’s head though. A fond smile creeps onto his face; he’s sure Techno is thinking of some way to help Tommy feel better.

He has good kids.

He finishes making the drink and brings it up to Tommy’s room, lightly knocking on it. There’s no answer. _That’s alright_ , he thinks, pushing down any smothering he wants to do. He will not baby Tommy. He will not. He will just leave the hot chocolate outside the door, and if it’s still there by dinner, then he’ll go in.

He will respect his kids’ privacy.

\----

The drink is still there when he goes to call dinner.

Phil knocks on the door, only to hear a muffled groan come from within.

“Tommy?” he says, but there is no response. He knocks again, louder this time. A distorted cry comes from the room, broken and messy. Okay, he’s freaking out now.

Phil opens the door to a pitch-black room, not a single light on. He sees a figure on the bed, illuminated by the hallway light. Tommy is curled in on himself, clutching his head as if in pain. His blankets and pillows are strewn about on the bed and the floor, clearly not providing any sort of comfort.

Phil rushes to his side immediately, gently shushing him when Tommy cries out again. He places a hand to his forehead only to draw it back at the heat. God, he was burning up; had he been like this all day? Phil mentally kicks himself at the idea, he should’ve checked on Tommy sooner.

It was alright, though, because he could help Tommy now.

Phil carefully picks up the sick boy and carries him downstairs, Tommy making a couple cries here and there before cuddling deeper into Phil’s side. It is _adorable_ and Phil almost wishes Tommy were this touchy when he was coherent. One day.

He brings Tommy to the couch in the family room, ignoring both Wilbur and Techno’s worried stares and cries as he passes them. He raises a finger to his lips when Tommy is settled, and points to the patio; both boys nod in understanding.

When Phil closes the door, Wilbur and Techno start talking at once.

“—what’s wrong? Is he okay? What can we do—”

“—was that the noise? He wasn’t sick yesterday—”

“Hey, calm down,” Phil placates, but he’s smiling at their worry. He had almost been nervous that Tommy wouldn’t get along with Wilbur and Techno at first, but it seems that was never a problem. “It’s just a fever, we’ll just keep an eye on him and see how it goes. Hopefully, it doesn’t raise anymore.”

“I’ll go get the thermometer!” Wilbur says, rushing back into the house before Phil can reply.

“Thanks, Wil,” Phil calls after him, shaking his head. “Well, Techno, do you think you could make something light to eat for when Tommy wakes up? I’m sure he hasn’t eaten today.”

Techno nods earnestly and darts back into the house, Phil trailing behind him.

They all split up for their respective jobs; Phil doesn’t know if Wilbur actually knows where the thermometer is, and if the constant crashes coming from the kitchen are any indicator, he is not close to finding out. He’ll figure it out, Phil reasons as he goes back to Tommy’s side.

He hadn’t really gotten a good look at him in his bedroom, what with it be covered in darkness, but now that Tommy was light up, Phil could see how terrible he was. His skin was pale and clammy, his breathing irregular and spastic. He looked freezing and burning to death at the same time, and despite being asleep, his face was furrowed in pain.

Phil tries to make Tommy more comfortable, covering him with a blanket and smoothing out the lines on his forehead. He notices that Tommy’s still wearing the old scarf, and he gently takes it off to let the teenager breathe.

He takes it off and stares.

There’s a scar.

_What?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowoowowow how are we feeling? I kinda like changing the POV's, i might do it more often! also don't ask me what's going on with the tenses; i have no idea.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and thank you for all the support so far!! We're finally getting into some actual plot, so look forward for that!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family has a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well, look who's finally updating this story again.
> 
> sorry about leaving you guys on such a cliffhanger last chapter! I swear, i didn't mean for this chapter to take so long! It's like, not even that long, but I just could not find the will to write it. Like, I wanted to, but i just didn't lol it's like not messaging a friend back not because you don't like them, but because you just don't feel like talking right then
> 
> anyways, here it is! idk how i feel about it, but it is here and that's that. not proofread because i am tired, so if you see any errors or weird grammatical structures; no you dont
> 
> enjoy

Tommy wakes up with the taste of acid and what feels like 10 years of morning breath on his tongue. He makes a noise that sounds something like a groan as he opens his eyes and orientates himself. _What day was it?_ Where was he?

Opening his eyes provided no answers to these questions; the blinding light that greeted him made Tommy wince and close them again. He groaned again and tried to sit up, but his arms gave up halfway.

Alright then, guess he’s just going to lie down. Exactly as planned.

Apparently, he had been making too much noise, because a second later, someone was at his side, if the dip in the bed was anything to go by. They gently lift his head up and bring a cup of probably water to his lips. He drinks greedily and tries to open his eyes again.

This time, he’s prepared for the light and manages to keep them open. Techno’s face is right next to his, forehead creased in worry, as he sets the glass down.

They stare at each other awkwardly for a couple of minutes before Tommy waves his hand in greeting.

“Glad you’re finally up,” Techno says, and even his _voice_ sounds concerned. Tommy has no idea why, but the idea of Techno causally showing emotion around him sets off red flags.

Wait—finally up?

Tommy makes a confused noise at the statement and prompts Techno to elaborate. Or, at least he thinks that what it looks like.

“You’ve been in and out for almost a week,” he says. “You were really sick, Tommy. How are you feeling now?”

Tommy thinks about the question for a bit. How _was_ he feeling? He certainly doesn’t feel sick anymore, but the leftover grogginess and weakness are still apparent in his body. He gives Techno a thumbs up, which makes the other crack a smile.

A smile? Shit, he must’ve been really sick.

“Glad to hear it.” Techno gets up at that, and for a second Tommy’s worried he’s going to leave, which would be not good because he’s still quite confused about the past week— But all Techno does is sit in the chair by the bed.

“Phil and Wilbur are… out right now,” Techno says, and Tommy almost doesn’t notice the pause. “But they’ll be back soon. We sort of need to have a family meeting.” He rubs an arm awkwardly behind his head as he looks at Tommy, as if trying to see how he’ll react to the words.

_Family meeting?_ Tommy mouths, and his mind races with conclusions before Techno speaks again. _Were they finally kicking him out? Has he finally outstayed his welcome? Tommy knew that scar would always fuck everything up—_

Except. They don’t know about that, right?

Tommy reaches up to his neck.

_Oh my god._

_Oh my god._

_Oh my god._

He doesn’t even hear the words Techno’s saying, or notice him stand up and come closer to him. _They saw the scar and now they don’t want him anymore—_ He _knew_ this was going to happen. He _knew_ it. It always happened, every time. It’s just, this is the first time it’s _hurt_ so much.

Because, he was really starting to like this family. They were weird, but kind. And Wilbur had been teaching him piano and—

He’s crying, he realizes absentmindedly, but he can’t find it in himself to care. This was the longest he’d ever stayed with a family before, and it’s all over just because of his fucking mother.

Techno’s still talking, Tommy notices, and he tries to tune back into whatever he’s saying. Even if they don’t want him, Tommy still wants to be cooperative. He owes them that.

“—deep breaths, okay?” Techno’s saying, making exaggerated breaths as he continues. “Breathe with me, Tommy. 1, 2, 3, 4— yeah there you are. There you are.”

Tommy tries to breathe along, but the air keeps getting trapped in his lungs, and he feels like he’s just suffocating instead.

“Deep, deep breaths, alright?” Techno demonstrates, and Tommy tries to copy, even though he knows it’s far shakier than it should be. “There you go, great job.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s doing a great job, but Tommy keeps trying to follow Techno’s instructions, and eventually, he’s able to take a breath without choking on the air.

“Tommy,” Techno says, and he can’t help but shrink back, his mind still racing with assumptions. “Tommy,” he says again, softer, “Can you look at me?”

Tommy reluctantly drags his gaze over to Techno’s, expecting to find anger at having to deal with _another_ outburst, but all he finds is relief as their eyes meet. God, this guy is so fucking weird. _Nothing_ he does makes any sense.

“There you go. Thank you,” Techno says. “You’re not in trouble.”

He’s—he’s what?

“I’m not sure what’s running through your mind right now,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just punched Tommy in the gut with that last sentence, “but, nothing bad is going to happen at the family meeting, alright? We just want to talk.”

And never in Tommy’s life have the words “we want to talk”, or any variation of them, ever been good news, but he can’t help but feel comforted by Techno’s words. Nothing bad, right?

Absently, Tommy wonders if maybe they don’t know about the scar, and that’s not at all what any of this is about—

But—Techno’s eyes keep darting down to it, and his posture is stiff and his hands clenched around the bedsheets.

Tommy sighs. The meeting is probably going to be about the scar. Fuck.

Nothing bad, though, right?

\-------

Tommy must’ve nodded off, because soon he’s being shaken gently awake by someone, and the sun is gone. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes before he realizes it’s Wilbur who’s woken him up, not Techno.

“Hey,” Wilbur says softly, a small smile on his face, “Sorry to wake you up, but it’s dinner time.”

Wilbur helps him sit up and get out of bed, careful not to touch Tommy any more than needed. Tommy appreciates it more than he shows; there’s still a large pit of anxiety in his stomach about the “family meeting”, and if he was touched anymore, Tommy honestly thinks he might cry.

He blames the sickness; those things always fuck up his emotions.

The walk down to the kitchen is quiet and tense. They both seem to be dreading what happens after dinner, apparently. Tommy wonders why Wilbur is upset; _he’s_ not about to be kicked out.

But wait, nothing bad, right? Being kicked out probably qualifies as bad, so it _probably_ wasn’t that. Probably. Maybe Techno and he had different definitions of bad, and that was actually good in Techno’s mind. God, Tommy hoped not; he kind of liked Techno, and Phil and Wilbur. If any of them really wanted him gone, Tommy knows the tears that would follow couldn’t be blamed on illness.

They make their way to the dining table and Tommy sits down awkwardly. Phil and Techno are already there, and Phil gives him a little smile when he sees him. He looks exhausted though, like he hasn’t slept in a week. Wilbur, too, now that Tommy can see him clearly. Techno looks his normal amount of exhausted, but Tommy thinks he might be more tired than usual too.

“It’s good to see you up and about, Tommy,” Phil says, starting to serve the soup that was for dinner that night—some generic vegetable one. “How are you feeling today?”

Tommy nods numbly as he takes the offered bowl. He’s too nervous to even pretend to be unbothered.

It seems like the whole table is a bundle of nerves too, since they all eat in tense silence. Even Wilbur, who’s always going on about this or that and never seems to shut up, is quiet.

It feels somber, almost, like someone’s died.

Or is about to.

Tommy eats a spoonful of soup. It tastes like ash. He eats another.

Phil clears his throat when they’re all finished, and it somehow gets even _more_ tense, the air thick enough to choke.

“Well, I think we all know what we need to talk about,” he starts, making sure to look them all in the eyes before continuing. “Tommy—” Tommy’s heart stops beating. “I need you to know that we all care about you, alright?”

That…what?

Phil goes on: “You’ve hardly been here two months, but it just feels right having you around.”

A small blush creeps onto Tommy’s face that he desperately tries to will away.

“And, because we care so much,” Phil stops, seemingly thinking over his next words. “Because we care, it’s important you understand that whatever happened to you before coming here? It will never, _ever_ happen again. And if you never want to talk about it to us, that’s fine, but I want you to think about seeing a therapist. You don’t need to decide right now, but just consider the idea, alright? I know it helped Techno a lot.”

Tommy can’t move, he’s so shocked at this turn of events. Before he can even begin to understand what Phil’s saying, though, Wilbur speaks up.

“It’s none of our business what happened,” he says, and he holds his hand out. Not demanding, just a silent offer. “But if you ever _do_ want to talk about, we’re here.”

Techno grunts in agreement, and Tommy is so unreasonably grateful he doesn’t add anything; he’s not sure he could remain composed if _Techno_ started a heart-to-heart

Tommy looks around at the faces of this family; a family he can almost start to picture himself being a part of.

Wilbur’s hand is still outstretched, and if a couple tears fall as Tommy takes it with a nod, no one mentions it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it!!!
> 
> i've been thinking of actually setting an update schedule for this, as motivation, you know? i'm thinking of like, every friday/saturday is when i'll try to aim. what do you guys think about that? hopefully it'll mean more chapters sooner!!!
> 
> also, thank you all so much for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks!!!! ahhhh, you are all so sweet!!! I love you all sm <3 your comments have been just such a highlight of my day when i get them, so thank you so much!!!
> 
> hopefully see you next week!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I had so much fun writing this, so I'll definitely add chapter two sometime soon! let me know what you thought in the comments below please!


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